Empty Chairs
by JCBoLt
Summary: The saddest part of Les Miserables: Right after the events of the barricade. Who knew that a summer day could kill? Oneshot.


**A/N: This is a little something that I wrote in English class. It's really sad and I cried while writing it. In class. I cried. Don't judge me.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables.**

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**ONWARD!**

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They said that the blood of the martyrs would water the meadows of France, but I don't think this is what they meant. They're all gone. Little Gavroche, shot in the chest by a merciless soldier; Grantaire, killed in the only spot he ever wanted to be- by Enjolras's side; _Eponine,_ who fell with the rain, lying in my arms, telling me not to fret, because she was finally safe, finally happy.

The piles of furniture that we valiantly built are red with, well, the blood of angry men. And yet, they got their wish. They are no longer slaves to the government of France. For once, they are finally free. But I am not. I am a slave to the never ending pain of loss. The loss of my friends who had quickly become my family.

I am here, standing, alive still, forced to stare in horror at the barricade and the flag that hangs mockingly out of the window. Even in death, our fearless leader would never let it go. Enjolras's hand is clasped firmly to the flag that is flapping in the wind, showing the promise of freedom. The promise that would never be fulfilled.

Their bodies are lying on the floor of the café. It's painful to look at. Even now, I can remember them sitting at the tables, speaking of a dream that is now only a distant memory. They would all pile in to the café, one by one, listening to Enjolras as he spoke passionately about that dream. But it will only be a dream, now and forever more. It will never come true. It will never be a reality.

I can see their ghosts in the windows, at the bar, coming down the stairs in a flurry of footsteps. Joly would walk in, fretting over some obscure illness that he thought he had, while Combeferre would assure him that that was not the case. Courfeyrac would be dragged in by an eager young Gavroche, who would always have a smile on his face. Eponine would sneak into the café, whether I would notice her or not, and pull a chair up next to me, seemingly listening to Enjolras speak of his revolution. But in reality, she was watching me. Waiting closely for me to finally return her affections, or show some recognition that she could ever be more than a friend to me. "_I might have been a little in love with you._" Grantaire would be drunk into a stupor, and in the times that he wasn't, he was mercilessly teasing Enjolras, along with the rest of my friends. Bossuet would complain about his newest strain of bad luck, and he would make all of us laugh. It may have just been as simple as him dropping a cup. Whenever anything bad happened to him, it was immediately the fault of his bad luck.

_My friends_. I'll never be able to see them again; I'll never see those smiles, never hear that boisterous laughter. All I can feel now is grief.

Grief for the things I have lost. Grief for the things I have taken advantage of. Grief for the things that I never bothered to notice. Grief for the little things in all of my friends that always brought me joy, like the grin that would spread on Eponine's face when I would grab on to her arm, and the fire in Enjolras's eyes when he would get worked up about what he was preaching about.

They spoke of a better time, a better world. They may have reached it, but for now, I am alone, wishing to be in the world beyond the barricade. But Eponine chose to save me from the bullet that would have killed me, and my mystery savior saved me from the sewers. I didn't deserve it. I can't live in a world without my friends. I have Cosette, I know. And she is wonderful, and she lights up my entire life. But sometimes, there are places too far away and much too dark for even the brightest of light to reach.

There are always the memories I have of them, though. Whenever I see the beautiful flowers that bloom in the garden, I'll remember Eponine and the valiant sacrifice she made for me, simply because she loved me. Whenever I see a little guttersnipe hanging around in the streets, smiling and reaching into the pockets of rich men for a few francs, I'll remember Gavroche and his strong spirit and childlike faith. There are things that ease the grief, but they can't end it. I'll _remember_ my friends, but I won't see them alive again.

Remembering isn't the same as seeing. It will never be the same. Memories fade, and I hope that my memories of my friends enjoying themselves as they did within the doors of the café which has become their resting place will never fade into darkness. But they're gone now, and I can't change the past. They're gone.

_Empty chairs at empty tables,_

_Where my friends will never meet again._

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**A/N: I am so sorry. I'm just… I'm sorry.**

**-JC, the one who is crying even harder than when Chyle died in BYK2WD.**


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